


I'll Be Home For Christmas

by the_ren_lover



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Christmas, Depression, Getting Together, M/M, Makeup, Misunderstandings, Modern Era, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Requited Unrequited Love, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:08:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27603257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ren_lover/pseuds/the_ren_lover
Summary: Grantaire regrets many things in life. He regrets that he started drinking, regrets not trying harder in school, regrets never moving away from his hometown in the middle of nowhere, but more than anything he regrets kissing Enjolras during his going away celebration.Four years later Grantaire is still hopelessly in love and is about to do one more thing to regret in the future; host his whole highschool friend group for Christmas. Well, almost the whole group. Enjolras is most definitely not invited. Funny how things never work out like Grantaire plans...
Relationships: Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy, Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	I'll Be Home For Christmas

“I didn’t expect you to show up,”

Enjolras’ voice was softer than it should’ve been when he approached Grantaire. He looked ethereal, golden curls pulled up into a bun and spotted with soft pink clover flowers courtesy of Jehan. Grantaire couldn’t bring himself to say that though, not then, so instead, he scoffed. 

“What, you thought I’d willingly decide to not say goodbye to any of my friends? Gee, Apollo, I’m starting to think you don’t want me here,” 

Grantaire’s words were empty. There was no bite left, none of his usual venom, just a hollow rattle as he took one last long drag from his cigarette and avoided all eye contact with the righteous man in front of him. Unfortunately for him, Enjolras wasn’t quite known for backing down. 

“You know I didn’t mean it like that Grantaire,” he bristled, yet he still maintained the unusual softness in his tone.

“Ah, yes. Forgive me, fearless leader, I just assumed you were here to remind me of my painful otherness. I assure you, I’ll be out of your hair soon enough,”

“Don’t call me Apollo-”

“For someone who fights so often for the rights of the people, you sure seem to be restricting my free speech,” 

“God damnit, Grantaire!” Enjolras shouted. His voice echoed out into the night as Grantaire’s grin fell. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d love it if our last conversation wasn’t an argument,”

There it was, a painful reminder of the reason Grantaire was standing outside Enjolras’ pretentious ass house (how a home that lavish could even be considered a house instead of a mansion Grantaire would never know) chain-smoking and doing his best to avoid reality. In a moment of uncharacteristic amicability, Grantaire conceded. Anything for his Apollo. “As my fearless leader commands,”

Part of him wanted Enjolras to get mad, to reject the taunt and leave him alone again in the lingering warmth of that June night, but instead, Enjolras laughed. 

“Thank you, I appreciate it,” He chuckled, sliding down the wall to sit next to Grantaire on the damp porch. Grantaire couldn’t tell if it had been intentional but Enjolras was unbearably close, his muscled shoulder brushing up against Grantaire’s own in a way that shouldn’t have been as distracting as it was. Then, silence. After what must have been at least a minute, Grantaire spoke up.

“I don’t think I ever congratulated you about the whole valedictorian thing,”

Enjolras smiled up at the stars, “Yeah, I don’t think you did,” The sky was uncommonly clear, with endless constellations spreading their light as far as the eye could see. The only star Grantaire could see was Enjolras in all his golden radiance.

“Well, congratulations. Nobody could’ve given a speech like you did, though I’m surprised you got away with those less than subtle jabs and Javert’s attendance policy,”

“The nice thing about being valedictorian is that everyone assumes you’ll stick to the speech you submitted for review like a good student. It was their oversight not to triple-check after all the hell I’ve raised. Besides, we were literally graduating. What were they supposed to do, give me detention?”

“I imagine they’d call the cops and have you escorted out for disorderly conduct,”

“Since when has that ever stopped me?”

They both paused to laugh then, and for a moment Grantaire could pretend that things were different. With Enjolras’ shoulder against him and their laughter ringing in the air around them and the smell of his last cigarette still lingering on the cuffs of his baggy hoodie, it was easy to imagine that this wasn’t the end. Reality awaited with her cruel icy inevitability but she wasn’t upon them, not then.

“Do you have your flask on you?” Enjolras asked. Grantaire had to do a double-take.

“Did you seriously just ask for my flask? I warn you that it isn’t filled with juice, Apollo,”

“Grantaire-“ Enjolras warned.

Grantaire didn’t wait to be asked twice. 

“Here,” he said, producing the flask from the back pocket of his jeans, “our little secret,” Enjolras took it gingerly, and as he took a long swig Grantaire didn’t know what was more distracting; the sight of his bare neck gulping desperately or the thought that his mouth was right where Grantaire’s had been not an hour earlier. The sound of Enjolras’ gritty sigh broke him from his internal reverie.

“Thank you for that,” 

Grantaire took the flask from his hand and, before thinking better of it, took his own deep swig. It was a little like transferring a kiss from the lip of the vessel to his own mouth. “I didn’t take you for the drinking type,” This time the comment wasn’t a taunt, simply an observation.

“Well, you thought wrong,” Laughter seemed so foreign coming from Enjolras’ plush lips. He was the fearless leader, the golden god, the marble statue untainted by human desires. Grantaire couldn’t deny that he liked the change. “Besides, the drinking age is 18 in France. I might as well get started now so by September I’ll fit in with my classmates,”

Yes, that was why Grantaire was here. 

Enjolras was flying out to his prestigious European college in the morning and Jehan had insisted that Les Amis get together one last time before their hearthstone fucked off to gay old Paris. There would be no more late nights together at the 24 hour cafe, no more arguments that lasted hours as he nitpicked each and every proposal made by their little club, no more admiring Enjolras as he lit up with righteous fire while giving a speech to the school board to advocate for whatever the cause of the month was. High school was over, and with it so was their friendship, if you could call the strange, codependent nightmare that Grantaire had with Enjolras a friendship. Soon the rest of his friends would be gone too. They’d fly off to California or New York or wherever their college was and that would leave Grantaire the way he’d been before he met them all: alone. 

It was as if Enjolras could tell something had changed because he turned to Grantaire with the most curious expression. Grantaire could only assume it was pity.

“Are you okay, R?” He asked, scooting closer as Grantaire’s heart stopped. Had Enjolras ever used his nickname before? Or sat quite so close? “Did I say something wrong?”

_No,_ Grantaire wanted to say, _no, I’ve just been hopelessly in love with you ever since you transferred into my English class freshman year and debated me for an hour about the importance of teaching diverse literature but now you’re moving away to Paris and you’ll probably never speak to me again._ He held his tongue. There was no reason to tell him all that with such little time left.

Enjolras had made his rounds earlier in the evening, greeting everyone but Grantaire with bright hellos and warm smiles. So many times he listened to Enjolras promising people that he would text or call or plan visits during breaks but none of that applied to _him_. Of course Enjolras would text his friends, but he and Grantaire weren’t friends. They were… something nameless. A planet and its orbiting moon perhaps, slowly crumbling from the strength of the gravity dragging it toward’s doom, or maybe an angel and a damned soul, given one glimpse of heaven before being dragged unceremoniously down to hell. Life without Enjolras would be hell. 

Grantaire didn’t realize that Enjolras had brought a hand to his face until it was too late and he was trembling at the touch. 

“Grantaire, please tell me what’s wrong,” 

Their faces were inches apart. Grantaire was close enough to smell the sharp mint of Enjolras’ expensive shampoo. Every freckle and line and detail was on display before Grantaire’s eyes and for the first time all night, he was painfully aware of just how sober he was. 

“Enjolras,” He gasped, unable to hold his reverence in when he was just so _close_. Enjolras’s eyes widened. Never once had Grantaire voluntarily said his name without being forced to. There was an honesty in it, an unabashed veneration, a sense of worship that couldn’t be hidden behind quips or arguments. The two sat, frozen in time as the world turned around them, speechless. Then, the gap between their faces closed.

Somehow, Grantaire always imagined Enjolras would be a harsh lover, demolishing every inch of his supplicant and then building them anew in a better image. Instead, he was unimaginably soft. His lips were pliant against Grantaire’s own, warm and giving, and Grantaire noted that his hair was just as silky as he had imagined it would be as he buried his fingers in those golden curls like he had yearned to for 4 years. Enjolras made a noise, somewhere between a moan and a whimper, and then his nails were dragging along Grantaire’s own scalp, and _oh_ \- he was tugging on the dark curls like a lifeline. 

Eventually, they had to pull away from each other, gasping in lungfuls of the cool night air, and as he opened his eyes the inevitable reality of the situation hit Grantaire like a truck. _What the hell did I just do?_ A quick look at Enjolras revealed that he was a quivering wreck, big blue eyes fixated on Grantaire and filled with… tears? Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit… Grantaire knew he was revolting, but moving Enjolras, _Enjolras_ of all damn people, to tears was beyond even his expectations. 

There were no words to express the regret that he felt at that moment, so he settled for “I’m sorry”, standing from Enjolras’ porch quickly and doing everything in his power to keep from sprinting to his truck, hands shaking. 

Part of Grantaire wished that Enjolras would do something to stop him. Scream at him or beg him to come back, just say something to show that it mattered to him if Grantaire stayed or left, but he didn’t. He sat silently in Grantaire’s periphery, fingers touched to his lips in shock, for at least as long as it took for Grantaire to get the hell out of dodge. He drove his shitty truck out of the too-nice neighborhood while shooting Combeferre an apology text for leaving early before going home and drinking until he hoped he’d forget, but no amount of alcohol could burn the feeling of Enjolras’ lips against his own out of his head.

The next morning, Grantaire’s heart took a plane to Paris and disappeared without a trace from everywhere except his memory. He didn’t speak to him again for 4 years.


End file.
